One More Cup of Tea
by Madam Pepper Potts
Summary: A short epilogue for Great Expectations I wrote after reading the book. Disclaimer: rights go to Charles Dickens for creating GE.


My only regret was that my wife's father was not alive to fulfill his duty in giving her away to me on our wedding day. How I would have loved to have gazed out, with searching eyes, upon the small crowd gathered in the church that day and have found my old benefactor's perpetually grubby face amid the clusters of clean countenances; but, alas, Magwitch could not come, and yet, I felt he was there in spirit: I told Estella so that evening after we'd said our vows and gone away to London to take our honey wine.

After taking breakfast at the Mr. and Mrs. Joe Gargery's with their small children, Herbert and I followed on schedule to assume the positions of groom and best man at the church in town. As we neared the place of the wedding, the steeple came into view and my breath caught in my throat: today I was to be married to the lady of my dreams, the one I had so loved and revered from the day I had first laid eyes upon her; within the walls of that church we two were to be bound together through holy matrimony.

Herbert chattered my ear off about his and Clara's little boy Thomas and what a sweet thing he was and I really must come down to meet my supposed nephew, but I could not hear him over my own thoughts which were at that moment racing with apprehension and excitement.

"Handel? Did you hear what I said?" Herbert stopped and laid a hand on my shoulder.

I turned.

Herbert laughed in a jovial manner, giving my shoulder a pat. "Why, Handel, how dazed you look! Ah, I suppose that's how all men appear to be on their wedding day. But, as for me, it was my mother who was dazed, not I." My friend chuckled again, the skin around his eyes crinkling.

Inside the church many folks were seated and talking in quiet, reverent tones amongst themselves; heads looked up when the doors swung shut behind us and a cheer went up at the sight of the groom.

Pumblechook, gray and fat as always, wound his way to me, pounding my shoulder with congratulations. "I always knew you would end up with that pretty lass; just be glad I took you to Satis House in the first place." Then, in his old fashion, he looked up at me and asked, "May I?"

I replied with a sigh and a "yes, you may" and he pumped my hand in a violent shake.

The Pockets, too, were there to offer their congratulations. Mr. Pocket, my old teacher, told me he thought I'd make a fine husband and to take care of my dear Estella; Mrs. Pocket, much as Herbert had described her on his wedding day, seemed as dazed as I felt; she gave me a tender hug and patted my head gently: "The key to a happy marriage is money, and she has that." I brushed her off subtly, angered at her conspicuous words, and went away.

There was rustling at the doors to the church and then the priest swept in, beckoning to me urgently. I obliged and went towards him.

"Are you ready, Mr. Pip?" he asked of me.

I puffed out my chest a bit. "I am ready to see my bride."

Herbert and I were directed to the altar where I stood nervously in my suit and tie, rubbing my sweaty white-gloved hands together in earnest.

Everyone in the audience settled down and focused their attention on me, only urging on my nervous nature as of this moment.

The pianist began playing and the choir began singing; the doors opened and in floated a white angel with blonde curls and baby blue eyes: my breath caught in my throat. Her eyes found mine and she slowly walked down the aisle toward me, her hands curled delicately around a pure white bouquet of fragrant lilies of the valley; her sapphire eyes never left mine through the white of her veil, as she sailed down the aisle.

When my dear Estella reached me I took her tender pale hand in mine and I could see her red lips curve into a smile underneath the white of the lacy veil.

The priest reads from his book and then the ring boy with the red cushion comes forward and we say our vows.

"I do," I said.

"I do," she replied.

"You may kiss the bride," the priest said.

I pushed the veil off Estella's face and onto her blonde angel hair; now I could see her baby blue eyes without the veil in between us. I leaned in and kissed her, and when I pulled back, we were married!

Days later, Estella and I were reclining at Walworth with Wemmick, Mrs. Wemmick (formerly known as Miss Skiffins), and the Aged Parent.

"I say, Pip, do you remember that first time you came here? And the second, when you wanted to help Herbert and knew I was the man to go to?" Wemmick started out of the blue.

I leaned back in my chair, with teacup in hand. "Oh, how could I forget? It was the first time I met the Aged, and the second was when I met Miss Skiffins!"

I glanced over at the little lady knitting next to her husband; she looked up at me and retorted, "Mrs. Wemmick, thank you very much."

I chuckled heartily, looking over at Estella, whose dainty hands were clasped around her own teacup and she sipped it, her eyes smiling at me.

"You know, in hindsight, I don't think I should ever have thought that Miss Havisham was my benefactor," I said thoughtfully, my eyes traveling around the room as everyone looked up at my startling comment, even the deaf Aged though he was only doing it because he saw Mr. and Mrs. Wemmick and Estella do the same.

"Oh, and why's that?" Estella's sweet voice carried over the quiet room. I could hear a sharp edge to her voice; apparently defending her dead adopted mother.

"Why, could any of you imagine Miss Havisham gifting me with that much money?" I looked around the room at the people seated there. Estella did not say a word, just stared into the depths of her tea; Mrs. Wemmick slowly shook her head, and she had not ever even met Miss Havisham, just had stories to go off of.

"Well, I daresay, I couldn't." Wemmick was the first to speak.

"Hush, you two!" Mrs. Wemmick warned. "How bad of you to speak ill of the dead!"

"The more I think," I continued, ignoring the lady, "the more it's obvious to me why Magwitch would do that. He was a bit like a father to me, you know, the old man."

"He was my father, Pip," Estella countered.

"Yes, he was, dear." I clasped her soft white hand in my rough one.

"And, Pip, it's getting late, we should be going." Estella extricated her hand from mine and looked at me pointedly. "Look, the Aged Parent's already gone to bed."

The old, wrinkled man with the white hair was asleep in his rocking chair by the hearth. Mrs. Wemmick brought the Aged a wool blanket to cover him while he slept. Wemmick grinned at his sleeping father.

"He goes to bed so early it's rather funny;" Wemmick mused, "and really, Estella, it's not that late."

"Would you all like one more cup of tea?" Mrs. Wemmick asked Estella and I politely, her hands already grasping the intricate china teapot.

I flicked a glance at Estella, who shrugged her shoulders, smiling. I answered for us, "Of course."


End file.
